Masks of the Past
by Little-Lottes-Phantom
Summary: Elizabeth de chagney,is a regular fifteen year old girl era of time 1920's who has just started taking lessons at the local newly rebuilt Opera Populaire. During these lessons she uncovers stories meant to stay in the past. and finds masks that will forev
1. Chapter 1

"Elizabeth Chagny! Hurry up, we're going to be late to your lessons again!" shouted a very frustrated mother at her daughter. Elizabeth rolled her eyes. Elizabeth was all that a fifteen year old girl could be. Romantic, playful, energetic, and beautiful in many different ways. She had long brown hair that curled at the ends, and bright blue eyes. She was at the point when she was more woman than child, though sometimes she acted more child than woman. Elizabeth had recently started taking dance and voice lessons at the recently remodeled opera populaire.

"Coming mother!" said Elizabeth running down the steps of their new home, which technically was not new seeing as it was a 247 year old house…but to her it was still new. "Elizabe…" started her mother when she saw but mostly heard her daughter coming down the steps. "Who are you going to see today?" asked her mom raising a questioning eyebrow. Elizabeth did this 'who me' face and said "a new boy working at the theatre, his name is Markus…" but before she could continue her father interrupted her "and have you had him tested, or run a background check?" he asked teasingly. She raised an eyebrow "and if I haven't" she asked seeking to annoy her father with her back talk. Henry Chagny was about to scold his youngest child for have talked back at him but before he could his wife kissed his cheek waved her hand , grabbed Elizabeth's hand and walked out the door.

"Elizabeth, do you have to torment your father so much?" asked her mother in a very tired voice…Elizabeth wanted to say that it was her duty as the youngest child, but she knew at times like these she was to apologize and put it behind her. "I'm sorry mother, truly I am" she said lowering her head like when she was a child and was humiliated. "So tell me about this Markus boy..." said her mother looking at her daughter from the corner of her eye. Liz as they called her blushed and her face lit up "he is tan, with dark hair and grayish green eyes, he's tall and well formed…" her mother smiled at her daughter talking away. In return Elizabeth blushed, and looked up at the opened door and the gray eyes staring down at her, burning their way into her soul.


	2. Chapter 2

"You're late, Madame Giry will not be happy" said the gray eyes which up till now she had discovered they belonged to Markus.

"And if I am? What importance is it to you?" she asked raising an eyebrow. He led her out of the car and walked her to the door, grabbing her wrist tightly. "Do not _ever_ talk to me like that again child! You may have status but that doesn't mean you can get your way around here." Said Markus…eyes flaming…yet his face expressed no feeling.

"I do as I wish, not as commanded!" shouted Elizabeth, "especially not commanded by _you_" she said to herself mostly.

"You're late! Tardiness is _not_ favorable in my students." Stated Madame Giry.

"I'm sorry Madame Giry." Was all Elizabeth muttered. Head hung in shame, eyes looking at the floor.

"Don't just stay there, you came her to glide on the floor…not to look at it!" said Madame Giry with a twinkle in her eyes.

From behind a curtain he watched, thinking to himself "I thought you did as you wished…not as commanded'. He laughed to himself, something quite rare. He watched her indeed glide on the floor; her moves were graceful…with some imperfections. For she had been taking lessons for a short time.

"Elizabeth" started M. Giry "I've told you time and time again, don't make your pirouette so fast!" scolded M. Giry "It will only mess up the rest of your routine, and possibly get your fellow ballerina's mixed up. Now then try it once more" said Madame Giry, regaining her patience.

Marie Giry, daughter of Meg Giry, had followed in both her mother and her grandmothers' footsteps at being the dance instructor of the Opera Populaire. She was in her mid thirties. And as both her mother and grandmother…had _very_ little patience.

Within 45 minutes the class was over and Elizabeth was getting ready to leave. What an arduous lesson it had been!

"Mademoiselle" said those gray eyes with a bit of doubt in them "forgive me for the way I treated you earlier…it was wrong of me to do so." Said Markus forcing a small smile.

Elizabeth, raised an eyebrow, bit her lip, and decided to not keep the young man in front of her with an awaiting apology.

"I think I can find it in my heart to forgive you…" she said with a seductive smile. He was about to answer, but she walked away.

He shrugged. At least he was forgiven. Now, down once again he was to go to his dungeon of despair.

You see years ago when Markus was the mere stable boy he had wandered into the cellars of the opera house, in search of something unknown.

What he found was something not quite unknown, but feared.

_He_, had taught him the art of music, architecture, magic, composition, and seduction.

He had showed him every nook of the opera house. But he had also taught him hate.

Markus walked down the stairway on the garnier side of the opera house, but instead of going through the iron gate took a left and right behind a piece of advertisement for _Faust_ he crawled through the space looked for the right block and pushed it so that he could get inside the dungeon. Then he jumped to the floor listened to make sure the block replaced itself and unlocked the door to his secret domain. _He_ had left him all of _his_ mother's belongings, even the organ; he had given Christine Daae's papers to Daroga, as a present for having saved his life that one time…many years before.

Markus walked toward the small table on the left of the organ and opened the drawer and lifted the cover of it, beneath it lay _his_ work of art, his soul, his all. There lay the score to _Don Juan Triumphant_; Markus took it with trembling hands.

He would someday compose a piece that wonderful, that passionate.

…But who would he take as his muse…?

He must think and observe, so he decided to go behind the mirror in the ballet dormitories, and watch for who he would take as muse.

He stared long and hard at the young ladies and their unimportant gossip, but try as he might he couldn't even begin to choose. Yes, the girls were beautiful, but not head strong, or free willed, they were not what he was looking for.

Disappointed he walked back into his world.


End file.
